


Remade

by Gowombat83



Series: Cullen and Ygrette [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-22 10:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11378694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gowombat83/pseuds/Gowombat83
Summary: Skyhold should have been the safest place in the world for Inquisitor Ygrette, but after a terrifying attack she has to find her way back to herself and learn how to trust again





	1. The Nightmare Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't all dark.
> 
> My canon Trevelyan Ygrette is 5'4, long loose dark claret curls, and bright blue-grey eyes. Warrior.  
> For this story though she's a rogue, both archery and duel blades, and is younger, early 20's.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of revelry takes a frightening turn.

Ygrette was warm and comfortable, the liquor in her body made her drowsy as she sat in the small tavern with her companions. They had enjoyed the night off, feeling more relaxed than they had in weeks and she wasn’t quite ready yet for it to end.  She looked blearily around the bar, it was almost empty now, her table and one other. Maker, it must be near dawn. She smiles to sleepily to herself, listening to her friends talk and laugh, enjoying the rare respite from their Inquisition duties. The small group of guardsmen at the other table erupted into raucous laughter, causing her to jolt awake, she hadn’t realised she’d begun to drift off. “Well, what a night!” she said with a wide yawn, stretching her arms over her head until her shoulders popped, “I’m for bed. It’s been a truly pleasant evening, but I’m bushed,” she stood with only a little sway.

“Yes, I think it’s time we all retired,” Dorian agreed, resting a hand on Bulls arm. His lover smiled and yawns expansively,

“Yep, back to it tomorrow. Or is that today? Eh, some kip before training is definitely in order,” Bull takes Dorians hand and helps him up. They upset the table and send empty bottles clattering and rolling around.

“Oops, par’n me,” Bull slurs, shuffling his bulk out from behind the bench seat. The soldiers from across the room seemed to reach a similar conclusion, also moving towards the door no doubt keen to get some shut-eye before morning drills. The Commander trained them hard, and any laxity hangover or no, would only be rewarded with a much harder workout than usual.

The tiny room was quiet now, but for the sounds of the innkeeper beginning clean-up while their last patrons exited. Ygrette followed her friends out into the cool mountain air. Only Dorian and Bull remained, their group had gradually whittled down as the hours ticked by, even Varric had folded and tapped out earlier. It was just them, and some imprudent recruits from the barracks who’d likely see the wrong side of dawn. She was tired but happy, a night of revelry was exactly what she needed, a brief break from the stresses of her position. She kissed her best friend goodnight, and watched Dorian take his lovers hand as they made their way back to their quarters. The cool air was soothing on her rosy cheeks so Ygrette decided a nice stroll to the hall, and her suite above it, would be a perfect ending to this night. She turned and started down the narrow lane between the tavern and outer wall, taking in the crisp and clean mountain air and enjoying the peace. A scuff and whispered curse behind her made her look back over her shoulder. One of the late patrons from the other table was making his unsteady way home. Ygrette smiled, “A merry night soldier,” she said.

“T’was m’lady,” he slurred, and promptly tripped over a crate of empty bottles stacked against the taverns back wall. “Makers beard!” he cursed, then hiccupped. Ygrette chucked and reached down to lend a hand,

“Best you get some sleep ser, and maybe visit the healing hall for a draught before drills. You know how the Commander feels about hangovers.”

“True m’lady, true,” he grins up at her as he leverages himself back to his wobbly feet. His bleary eyes peer out at her from behind a muss of hair. She releases his hand now he has his legs under him again, but he grabs hold of her arm with his other hand, “well now, there’s still time m’dear,’ he leers at her, “ an’ it’s cold out here.” Ygrette gets a waft of strong drink on his breath,

“I think it’s time for everyone to retire,” she smiles, patting his hand on her arm, “it’s very late. Good evening ser.” She turns to go but instead of releasing her his grip suddenly clamps down with surprising strength.

“Now now, don’t be thinking you can leave a man out in the cold,” he wrenches her into chest and roughly grabs her breast, squeezing hard, “How’s about we warm each other up?”

“Let me go, immediately,” she growls, temper flaring. She understood that a night of alcohol and merriment would loosen a man’s tongue and she was no princess that she couldn’t handle a little banter, but this was crossing a line. Her mind had shouldered aside the languid fog of drink, sharpening instantly, but the physical effects on her body weren’t so easily dismissed. Her limbs still felt heavy and awkward, her reactions delayed, so when suddenly gave her a shove she was unable to save herself. Losing balance she slammed hard into the stone wall. Ygrette was strong, agile, the finest marksman at Skyhold with a bow both on foot or horseback, but a long night of drinking and merriment were now working against her, stripping her of the finely honed skills which were enviable on any battlefield. “No!” she said harshly, shoving at his torso as he pushed her into the rough stone surface. But with her shoulders pinned she couldn’t get enough leverage to do her any good. He leaned into her, his full weight pressed against the length of her body as much to keep himself upright as to trap her. But trapped she was, and weaponless. Her moment of annoyance quickly became fear as she realised it, and that he outweighed her by a large margin. “Get off me! Get off! No!” she yelled but as she struggled he mashed his mouth down onto hers, grunting obscenely. He foul breath filling her nose and making her gag as he forced his tongue into her mouth. She did the only thing she could and bit it, hard.

“You bitch!” he spat, and roughly slammed her into the wall. Her head hit hard, pushing the air from her lungs and stunning her. It was all the window he needed. The man threw her forcefully to the ground, Ygrette felt herself falling but could do nothing to stop it. Her ears rang from the blow and she felt her stomach flip sickeningly but before she could sit up he was on her. Rough hands shoved at her skirts and she felt a wave of fear as she realised what he was doing. She began to thrash under him, but he was a dead weight on top of her, pressing her petite frame painfully into the ground. And he was an active soldier of her own guard, well trained and strong. She had no hope of fighting him off but she couldn’t do nothing. She slapped at his face and shoulders and when she felt his invading hand reach her under the skirts and she screamed. Her open handed blows became a frantic clawing, she dug at his face and neck with her nails and screamed again. He grunted heavily as she ripped at his ear. He suddenly back handed her with shocking force, and her vision blurred and she was stunned silent.

“That’s enough of that, we’re just havin’ a bit o’ fun. No need for hysterics now, “he slurred drunkenly. Her body jerked as he moved on top of her, working at his breeches while he pushed her knees apart with his own. “I promise you’ll like it,” and he placed a grubby palm over her mouth, cutting off her next scream.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ygrettes companions suspect that something is amiss

It had started to rain but Ygrette couldn’t move. She huddled against the cold wall in the damp dirt and shivered. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, her mind had gone blank with shock. She was alone though. The man at some point had leveraged himself to his feet and tucking himself in staggered off down the ally hiccupping and mumbling. She’d drawn her skirts around herself, knees tucked under them and hugged tight to her chest, hot tears leaking from her unblinking eyes. It was only when the crates and bottles strewn around her began to be more than just shapes in the dark did she realise the sky had begun to lighten in pre-dawn. The first thought her brain could form was that she mustn’t be found here when day broke. This alone forced her to move.

Slowly, achingly she sat up, unwinding her body from around itself and rolled to her hands and knees. She hurt everywhere, her cold muscles screamed at the movement after being cramped into a ball in the cold. She bit back a sob, her shoulders trembling at the effort to pull herself upright. The sky was awakening, down minutes away. People would be stirring soon Ygrette knew, so she gathered herself and ran for the nearest Keep door.

The hold was still being cleared and rebuilt after who knows how long, there were many parts of the structure that were still in disrepair, unexplored. She found herself in a small cluttered antechamber covered in dust and debris, but there was a corridor that led back into the hold in the general direction of her quarters. She walked until she found a familiar passage and sped down the hallway towards her rooms. There would already be people in the Great Hall by now, Ygrette could hear the distant sounds of Skyhold waking, fear gripped her. She hurried to her secret entrance, a narrow path that led from hidden room in her suite to the outer wall and outside which she used when she needed to slip away on her own for a while.

Once in her rooms again she locked all her doors and drew a small bath, heating water in the fireplace. She stood in the little wooden tub before the fire and scrubbed at her skin, finding all the marks and bruises she scrubbed at them trying to wash them away, but bruises don’t wash. She scrubbed her body over until the water was long since cold and her skin was raw and stinging. Shivers trembled through her as she chilled, her teeth chattered until she thought they would dance out of her head.

A sudden heavy thud on her main chamber door made her jump, snapping her out of her daze. Ygrette grabbed a robe and hastily made for the small stairway that led down to her door, “Who is it?’ she called down, her whole body thrumming with tension.

“Inquisitor, are you still abed? It’s late, “ Josephine called, twisting the locked handle.

“I’m.. I’m not feeling well. Please go away.”

“Oh,” Josie sounded surprised, “are you hung over? I know you went out with Dorian last night, I could bring you a draught?” she asked.

“No, thank you I, I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a moment.” She stuttered.

“Alright,” Josie sounded sceptical but she let it drop. Ygrette could hear her muffled voice through the door “ _The Inquisitor is indisposed at the moment, she’ll be down later…..”_

Ygrette was bone tired, she gripped her robe tightly around herself and lay on her bad, pulling the heavy pelt comforter over herself and shook until it began to warm her and lulled her into oblivion.

A voice wormed its way into Ygrettes consciousness, a male voice, familiarly chatting away as it moved about her room. Her head was fuzzy and throbbing, she couldn’t seem to full awaken.

“My dear, if I’d known you were such a light weight, I’d have prepared a tincture for you beforehand,” Dorian chided. Ygrette couldn’t respond. She was freezing under the pelt, her whole body shaking but her brow glistened with a sheen of sweat. The matress dipped as Dorian plopped himself down beside her and gave her shoulder a small shake, “Come now, it’s almost supper time. Our surly Commander disapproves of laying abed all day but I think one day off is well deserved. You must be hungry though …. Ygrette?…” he asked, suddenly concerned, “Ygrette, pet?”  he placed a hand against her forehead, it was burning! “Maker!” he swore, jumping off the bed and darting to banister over the stairs. Josephine waited at the door having let him in, “Josephine, get the head healer”, he commanded, “Now!” She startled but hurried off. 

Dorian returned to the bedside and turning back the pelt he stretched his hands out above her, palms down, and began to cool the air around her. “Oh my pet, I thought you were just hung over from last night,” he said worriedly, “I should have come sooner. It’s alright, we’ll get you well again” he spoke softly, reassuringly to her, but she was beyond hearing. He wasn’t a strong healer but he knew enough of fevers to know he must get her temperature down. Maker, but she was burning up. He hoped it wasn’t too late, that they’d found her in time. Where was that damned healer!

Ygrette slipped in and out of consciousness, voices murmured around her but she was locked behind a thick wall of fog and pain. She heard snatches of conversation but couldn’t make sense of them.

“He’s at the door asking to see her.”

“No, we must keep this quiet, tell him….”

….

“Sorry, I couldn’t stop him”

“Surely a hangover doesn’t warrant a whole day abed”

“Oh, I think she’s just exhausted, her duties and all, the constant travelling. She just needs some rest, I’m sure she’ll be back at it tomorrow good Commander”

“Hmph, well, nothing for it I suppose. Tomorrow then.”

….

“Have the healers been?”

“Yes, they’ve done what they can, the fever is broken but it’s drained all of her energy. I’ll keep an eye on her, you handle the nobles.”

…

“How is she love?” Bulls voice.

“She’ll be alright but Maker, I thought we would lose her,” Dorian sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand across his eyes. I’ll stay here tonight in case she relapses. You go home my sweet.” Bull kisses him on the top of the head and leaves.

The house is silent when Ygrette awakes into darkness. A small snore from the end of the bed has her sitting up, peering into the shadowed room. The only light from the glowing embers in the hearth. On the floor by her bed Dorian slept on a narrow cot, one arm flung over his eyes, blankets pooled at his waist. He snored again and shifted, but didn’t wake. She sat back on her bed, pulling her pelt around her shoulders she listened to his slow even breathing and stared into nothing.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, not moving or thinking, but at some point Ygrette felt the bed dip as Dorian moved up to sit beside her. Placing an arm around her shoulders he spoke quietly, voice thick with sleep, “My dear, you’re awake. I’m glad, but you must rest. Come, lay down under the covers,” he touched her face, checking again for any sign of fever. He settled her gently back into the blankets, “ You gave me a great scare today pet, I’ll thank you not to do that again,”

“Oh,” she managed, a tiny sigh of a word.

“Yes my pet, you’ve been very Ill,” he lay alongside her on top of the covers, wrapping one arm over her stomach and propping his head up on his other. He held her tenderly, as though she were some precious breakable thing. _Breakable_ , she thought. _Broken_.  Ygrette suddenly wrapped her arms around Dorians neck, burying her face in his chest and let her grief rush out of her in great wracking sobs.

“Oohhh,’ Dorian cooed, collecting her in his arms and holding her close, “It’s alright my sweet. You’re alright,” he continued to comfort her softly, stroking her hair as she clung to him. “You must have been so scared, but you’ll be fine now.” Dorian was sympathetic, but also a little confused. Sure she was under a lot of strain and the fever had drained her, but the desperate way she held him, her heartbroken sobs worried him. If anyone knew her well it was he, and this was so out of character. Maybe they were pushing her too hard, asking too much of her. She was a warrior but she was also just one woman. He held her and rocked her until she gradually stilled and drifted into an exhausted sleep against him. But he was wide awake, and that’s how Bull found them in the morning.

“I thought you might need breakfast, I’ve brought you both some coffee and toast,” Bull said softly, setting the tray down by the bedside where Dorian cradled the still sleeping Inquisitor.

“Starving love, thank you,”he took the offered cup with his free hand.

“How is out little hellcat?” Bull asked quietly, not wanting to wake the girl.

“I think it all quite shook her, she woke in the night crying. But I don’t know, it seemed more than that.  Like she was afraid? I don’t know. Maybe we’re pushing her too hard,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“She’s had a rough few months, girls do that sometimes, don’t they?” Bull asked, “Anyways, I’m sure you’ll have her back to her old herself in no time, now she’s free of the fever.” Dorian nodded in agreement as he sipped his steaming coffee, but he still had a worried dimple in his brow when his lover left for drills.

 **********************************************************************************

Commander Cullen was getting frustrated. He understood the inquisitor had been unwell, but it had been a week now and every time he tried to get an audience with her he was neatly deflected. If it wasn’t that slippery mage ducking his requests, it was Josephine or Lelianas practiced hands diverting him with unimpeachable diplomacy, or Bull, the massive Qunari, simply turning him away at the door.

He’d seen her the odd time or two when she’d emerged from her suite, but always she was quickly ushered away by her entourage before he could get near. She’d looked pale but not infirm, sometimes a sickness just hit you harder than normal but with the healers abilities it was not excuse to shirk on your responsibilities. He didn’t expect her to be back on the field fighting right away, but there were important matters that needed her attention. Cullen was not a stupid man. There was something more afoot, and so he had arisen early and positioned himself in the great Hall with a stack of papers he needed to catch up on, and waited. He glanced up when the door to her chambers opened and Bull exited. He stayed seated, wearing his best scowl to keep from being bothered. When it opened again he got to his feet and strode purposefully toward the emerging Dorian.   

“Ah, Commander, I’m afraid the Inquisitor is still not fully recovered….” The Tevinter was abruptly cut off as Cullen held up a silencing hand.

“I understand the Inquisitor has been unwell, I am not unsympathetic, nut it’s been a week and while Josephine, Leliana and I can manage much of the workload there are important matters that demand the Inquisitors attention.  I know that she’s aware of this. So tell me, how serious is this that our best healers have been unable to restore her as yet?”

“Shrewd Commander, very shrewd. But not here. Come,” Dorian turned and headed toward the passage that led to the war room, Cullens footsteps right on his heels. Josephine wasn’t at her desk. Good. Dorian quickly ushered the Commander through the door and closed it firmly behind them.

“What’s this all about,” Cullen asked, annoyed.

“I’m not sure actually,” the mage began, “but there is more to this than just a fever. I’m concerned Commander, something isn’t right but I’m afraid I haven’t a clue as to what,” he confessed.

“Is she alright?” the Commander asked, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice.

“Physically she’s fine, the healers have been many times, her body is healthy. But she’s not herself.”

“In what way?” If anyone would know something was off it would be her confidante, Cullen was a military man and strategist, you just didn’t discount that kind of testimony out of hand. His brow furrowed deeper. Dorian sighed, wiping his hand across his eyes,

“It’s like she’s in a trance or something, I don’t detect any magics, but he mind wanders often. In these periods of vagueness she’s almost totally unresponsive,” he sighed again, “If I didn’t know better I’d say she’s suffered a trauma.”

“A trauma? Like a knock to the head?” The Ferelden man asked, frowning.

“No, like a terrible event, like battle shock.”

“Battle shock? But I’ve seen her in battle. She’s sharp, fearless, and she hasn’t seen any fighting for weeks now. Why now?”

“I just don’t know, I had thought maybe the pressure of her position, the constant travel and all was getting to her and the illness just,” he shrugged. “But no, I don’t believe it’s stress. There are little hints of more but so far I can’t piece them together. She fell ill the night of our little gathering at the tavern and she hasn’t been the same since. When I found her that afternoon in a high fever I tried to bring her temperature down with a cold bath. She had some cuts and bruises but at the time I thought it was normal. Maker knows she trains hard and she fights hard. But now I’m not so sure. “

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian was frustrated now,” I wish I had more to go on than a gut feeling but I’m asking you to trust me Cullen,” he pleaded. “I think you should investigate, quietly, see what you can find out. A fall from a horse, bad news from home, the mark, anything. But Commander, whatever it is, I don’t think we’re going to like it.” Dorian said gravely. He gave Cullen a quick pat on the arm and left.

Cullen mulled over their conversation, so it began with a party. Better start there.


	3. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen confirms the unthinkable, and catches fire

As this was a covert operation Commander Cullen had to be circumspect in his investigations. He struck up conversations with some of the Inquisitors inner circle who were at the tavern that night, and then widened his circle from there. He’d followed his leads to a small group of recruits who he learned were also drinking late into the night and would have been some of the last people to see her before she fell ill. He was hoping they’d have seen or heard something, a small clue to tie these puzzle pieces together that so far just didn’t seem to fit, no matter how he turned them in his head. The Commander thought to question them under the guise of cracking down on excessive revelling at the Keep. But as he walked away from the last interviewee, the barkeep, he was troubled. A dark suspicion beginning to form in the back of his mind. Before he’d be able to piece this together he had one more person to speak to, and as he spied the Tevinter leaving the hall he knew now was his chance. Cullen slipped around the corner to the recessed side door and within moments he was on the other side and heading up the stairs to her chambers.

Ygrette was standing by the large stained glass doors to her private balcony staring wet-eyes into nothingness. The footfalls of his approach made her turn, “Oh,” she said surprised to see the Commander at her landing.

“Inquisitor,’ he bowed, a shallow bend at the waist.

“I, uh, Com..Commander,” her eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders tense, “ I apologise, I fear I’m, um, not up to taking audiences, I…” she was twisting her fingers anxiously, her eyes looking anywhere but at him, though she could feel the weight of his scrutiny on her. Her eyes pricked hot again as she feared he was about to chastise her for her extended absence from duties. But it was more than that, she was keenly aware that she was alone, and there was no mistaking his masculinity.

Cullen could see the woman had been crying and noted how very pale and drawn she looked, a marked contrast to her usually healthy colour from regular activity outside. But those things were not what had turned his guts to ice and frozen him on the spot. The moment she’d turned and met his eyes, before she’d dropped them to stare hard at the floorboards, he’d seen it. She tried to hide it but he didn’t get this far by not being sharp and he’d recognised it for what it was. Pure fear. Not of him the Commander, but of him, a man. He felt his eyes go flat and hard, his mind stilled and went to that dark quiet place where he went in those dreadful moments before battle, steeling himself for massive violence. For death.

The door behind him swung open as Dorian entered, already speaking, “I got that book you wanted pet…. Commander!” he stopped, startled. Cullens eyes had not left Ygrettes face as his unthinkable suspicions were confirmed by the look of absolute relief that flowed over her face at the mages return. He noted how she paced a small line one way and then back again, still wringing her hands desperately, never coming an inch closer to himself though she clearly wanted the comfort of the Vint.

“Commander I think maybe another time might be better for a visit,” Dorian began, trying to smooth things over, “here, let me show you out,” he lightly rested a hand on Cullens arm to turn him back toward the stairs, “I’ll just be a moment pet,” he said to the shaken woman.  Cullen allowed himself to be led away but his whole body tremored with barely collared rage.

“What did you say to her, she’s a positive wreck up there?” Dorian hissed.

“You were right,” Cullens voice strained with the effort of keeping it down, “Something is very wrong, and I do not like it one little bit.” Dorian snatched his hand back, eyes going wide. He’d never seen the blonde Fereldan look so wild, everything about him screamed dangerous. Cullen wrenched the door open and slammed it forcefully as he left. The Tevinters heart was hammering in the wake of that terrible storm.

“Dorian?” a small voice called down from the landing above, he swallowed hard,

“Coming pet,” he sing-songed brightly, gathering himself quickly as he ascended the stairs back to her.

Ygrette was still in the middle of the room, leaning toward the stairwell with worried eyes and nervous hands, “Is he mad at me? He’s so mad,” she fretted.

“Now now my sweet girl,” Dorian tutted, “I think our Commander has just had a bad day. Not to worry. So I fetched that book you wanted, shall I read to you for a while?” he put a comforting arm around her arms and led her back to the divan.


	4. Retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning- Blood, gore, and violence.

Cullens brain boiled. His every muscle as rigid as stone as he sat in a dark corner of the little tavern by the Keeps outer wall, listening. There were only a few guardsmen in the bar at this time of day, and the roused and laughed, tipsy with drink already, unaware of the Commanders presence in the shadows. Cullen had asked the bar keep about the smaller party from that night, only a group of regulars she’d said, and in fact those same four patrons were enjoying a jug right now. So he’d ordered a drink, unobtrusively taken a seat, and waited.

The soldiers drank and jested, already well far gone for the hour and certainly shirking their assignments. And as merry soldiers tended to do they got rowdy, telling bawdy stories that were as often as not pure fiction. One particularly boisterous sot was recounting a night of steamy passion with a pretty bar wench in vulgar detail to the jeering disbelief of his companions. “She was hot for me she was. Well, she put up a bit of fuss to start with but don’t they all boyos, eh? Don’t know what they want ‘till they get it, then they can’t get enough!” he cackled obscenely.

“No bar wench ‘have you, not with that ugly mug!” One of the gathering scoffed, to much laughter from the other two.

“Not one he hadn’t bought with gold,” said another

“He hasn’t got that much gold!” the first wheezed at his jest, and he motioned to the serving girl to bring more ale. The barmaid came around with another jug, topping off their tankards.

“Here now,” the storyteller asked the girl, “where is that pretty wench anyway?”

“An’ which one would that be then?” she asked.

“The pretty little one, the one with the red here, you know?” He leered at her, then belched loudly.

“See now, the last time you told this story you said she had brown hair Len. How drunk were you?” one cackled.

“No no, it was red it were, where is she then?”  he looked back to the serving girl.

“We don’t ‘ave no redheads here,” and she flicked her hair as she walked away.

“Len,” one of his companions said, sounding a bit puzzled, “you say she had red hair?”

“Yes yes, long red hair, and big brests!” he laughed again, but the table had fallen silent.

“Which night was that again?” the confused man asked, looking a bit green now, “the night the Inquisitor was here?”

“Don’t know ‘bout no Inquisitor, I’ve never seen ‘er, but my lass was tending that big party that was ‘ere, over there,” he pointed across the room.

“Fuck Len, what have you done!” the man exclaimed, pushing back from the table so hard it sent the empty glassware over in a clatter. “I’m outta here, you stay away from me!” he said pointing at the sot, arm and voice suddenly shaking, bloodshot eyes starting from his horrified face.

“What’s got into you then?” Len said irritably, righting his spilled tankard.

 “I dunno,” one of the others said, immediately sobered, “but maybe we should get back before the Commander….”

Something deep and primal in Cullens mind snapped; he had his target. He was on his feet and striding toward the panicked recruits who were still unaware of dreadful violence that was about to befall them, eyes blazing as if with the very fires of the Fade itself.

Cullen was more animal than man when he stepped into the midst of the small party, radiating malevolence; he’d never been more dangerous. The men fell over themselves to get out of his way as he bore down on his victim. Len only had half a moment to switch from confusion to fear before Cullens mailed fist slammed with shattering force through the lechers face. Then he fell to pummeling the sot with such savagery that the onlookers could only huddle against the wall frozen, and watch what used to be their colleague reduced to just so much bloody mess.

When the haze of fury lifted and Cullen was able to think again he stood, swaying on shaky legs, chest heaving with ragged breaths. Suddenly he sagged against the table as a crushing wave of exhaustion washed over him.  His skin was sheened with sweat, face and armour dripped with blood and thicker things. The air in the tiny room had turned rancid and cloying with the sickly sweet metallic scent. He needed air! Cullen stood and turned on the three men who were still huddled against the wall, their eyes glassy with pure terror, he raised one trembling arm to pint at them,  
“You,” he said, dreadfully quiet, “will speak of this to no one.” They nodded moronically as the bloodied man moved past them and toward the door. He didn’t doubt they would obey. As Cullen stepped out of the stuffy room and into the sunlight he sucked great draughts of cold clean air into his burning lungs. Chest heaving he stumbled to the corner of the stone building, bracing himself against it with one hand he looked down at himself. He watched a gelatinous glob slide down his breastplate and plop wetly into the dirt at his feet and his stomach heaved. He doubled over and noisily disgorged himself of everything he’d ever eaten.

Nearby Bull looked up as the door to his favourite little tavern slammed open across the yard, and three terrified men bolted as though the hordes of the darkspawn were on their heels. Then he caught sight of the Commander hunched over against the outer wall. He strode over, took one look at the gore covered man, and pushed the door open. Peering into the dim room it was the smell that hit him first, and when his eye adjusted and his brain made sense of what he was seeing he backed out again hastily. Bull called out to Krem who hurried over from the practice field, “Get someone and handle this,” he ordered shortly, taking up position in front of the door, blocking it with his massive bulk as Krem high-tailed it to comply.  

The Qunari mercenary didn’t try to talk to the wheezing Commander, whatever it was that had happened in there he knew retribution when he saw it. And if it had anything to do with their Inquisitor he wouldn’t be losing any sleep over it.


	5. Trauma

Cullen was still breathless and shivering, the sweat cooling on his skin in the cold mountain air, but he felt stifling. He had to get out of his armour. He fumbled with the buckles but they were slick with blood and perspiration and his hands shook with weariness. His arms felt like lead, he could barely hold his head up from the weakness that enveloped him. Suddenly the mage was there, quick deft fingers removing the heavy metal and dropping the pieces where they fell. Cullen couldn’t speak but Dorian seemed to sense it, and so he worked in silence freeing the bloodied man. When the last piece came free Dorian handed him a square of cloth, “For your face,” he said, “Go, I’ve got this.” Stumbling away from the mess he’d left Cullen wiped the blood from his face and his skin with the cloth, but he couldn’t wipe it from his mind.

In only his linen shirt, one arm soaked with blood, Cullen made his way to the Hall via a service door. He should have stopped to clean up, but this couldn’t wait. Not while she suffered. He slipped into her antechamber and locked the door behind him. He made sure to step loudly on the wooden staircase as he ascended. As she was before the Inquisitor was staring into nothingness, seated on her divan with the book Dorian had fetched hanging limply in her hand. She started when he appeared at the top of the landing, and again he witnessed that instant flash of fear as she recognised him as male. That any woman would look at him that way twisted cold in his gut, but that same terror turned upon him from her was beyond bearing. It was a burning indictment of his responsibility to his leader, and an unforgivable failure as a man. The sickening rush of loathing and shame in that moment almost undid him.

Ygrette had jumped to her feet when the man had entered, but now she was momentarily distracted by the darkening blotch on his shirt, “Oh, are you hurt…” she asked, taking an unconscious step toward him, hand half raised, and then the smell hit her. Whiskey, and ale, and darker things, and she began to scream.

Her mind hazed with terror so it was not her Commander, her trusted advisor and comrade, but a drunken demon from her nightmares. That smell of alcohol and sweat sent her flashing back to that night. Pinned under the crushing weight, trapped while she struggled helplessly, unable to save herself. She felt the scream rip up her throat and shatter the air as it echoed back from every stone corner of her room.  She stumbled backwards, crashing into a chair, it was all the opportunity he needed. The man was upon her, clamping her body to his, and then her mind went blank.

The man was half out of his mind already but when that scream hit him something in Cullen broke. That look of pure fear, directed at him, was like a knife to the heart. He couldn’t stop himself, he wanted to end her pain, anything to stop her pain. Unthinking he’d leaped toward her closing that short distance between them in a blink, catching her before she toppled over the chair. He grasped the distraught woman desperately to his chest, and her full weight sagged against him as her howl faded off into an unintelligible string of sobs and no’s. Her fear struck him like blows and his heart wept for her. He held her to him, took all her weight upon himself and cradled her as his own tears flowed hot and salty. He lost all sense of time as they stood in the darkening room. And he didn’t care.

Ygrette hung limply in the powerful arms that bound her having cried herself into exhaustion, but she was able to think again. She’d realised that she wasn’t so much being pinned as being held. Nothing hurt, she hadn’t been thrown or slapped. The smell of the liquor was still there but underneath it was something more familiar, comforting. Elderflower. And a voice, chanting low and soothing. She focused until the words began to make sense. The voice, Cullens voice. Cullens arms. Cullen. Ygrette flung her arms up and clung to him, burying her face in his chest, and let the words wash over her as the tears silently flowed.

Cullen didn’t know when he’d started speaking, but he knew when she heard him. Her small arms gripped him, fingers digging in to his arms, not resisting now but clinging to him. So he held her speaking low and soothing the only words he thought might bring her comfort, “He’s dead, you’re safe now. He can never hurt you again, I won’t let anyone hurt you again. You’re safe Ygrette. He’s dead.”


	6. In Time

In the long months since that dreadful day the Inquisitor has slowly begun to repair herself. Cullen had to admire her, that she would continue to lead and fight under the burden of the attack. That she would strive so hard to rebuild what had been broken. He couldn’t imagine it.

He had always taken his job to the Inquisition and Inquisitor seriously, but now he had to admit it, at least to himself, it wasn’t strictly business anymore. Oh, he’d had an inkling buried deep in the back of his mind since Haven that he was attracted to her, but being a man of limited experience he’d written it off as professional respect. Lying to yourself was indeed a talent, at which he was adept. He could no longer deny it however, his interest in the petite redhead had grown the more time he spent with her, and in the last 6 months there had been a lot more of that than previously.

Whenever she left the Hall he’d ensured she always had a bodyguard, himself or one of her inner circle surreptitiously nearby. He’d also insisted on facilitating her training drills himself. The Lady was a master archer but he’d bullied her into learning close combat with a pair of daggers. He’d found her to be an exceptional student, quick to pick up new skills and she practiced. Under his careful tutelage she had become an agile and strong combatant, impressing him often, and he’d noticed that in battle now she had a certain edge, a hardness that wasn’t there before. While he deeply regretted how that came to be he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride and awe watching her fight. Maker, but she was fierce! Not to mention, if his discipline slipped, also quite a distraction. She was truly something to see; graceful, strong, deadly. Cullen shook himself from his reverie; he really shouldn’t allow himself these little indiscretions, even in the vault of his thoughts. It wasn’t an option, it never would be, he was exceeding aware of that.

Ygrette was doing admirably but even now he would catch her, whenever she was still for a moment or there was a break in conversation he’d see that haunted look pass behind her eyes. She always recovered quickly and likely no-one at court was aware, but he saw. He was always watching her from the corner of his eye or from the other side of the room, when his eyes weren’t busy they sought her out. But again he reminded himself that was his duty, and that was all it would ever be; Inquisitor and Commander, teacher, colleague. He never wanted to see that look of fear directed at him again, so he did not allow any hint of his attraction to be evident in their interactions, and conducted himself with stern professionalism. If he was to be her protection she must first feel safe around him. If that was all he could do for her, then so be it.

*********************

“Stop chewing your nails pet,” Dorian chided the Inquisitor.

“Huh, what?” Ygrette looked up from the report she wasn’t reading, “Oh sorry, did you say something?” she asked. Dorian chuckled,

“No pet, only you keep chewing your nails when you daydream, you’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he felt a sudden twinge of worry, but kept it to himself, “Something on your mind?” he questioned mildly. They were in her suite enjoying a quiet lunch as they often did when at the Keep. While the mage had long been her closest companion she’d noticed that she was rarely ever alone, not really. If it wasn’t the Commander one of her other companions were always nearby. She didn’t mind though, she actually found it comforting, so she allowed their little deception.

But the brooding blonde Fereldan himself was something of a worry for her. If he’d been somewhat distant before, now he was downright grim, usually following her like a thundercloud. That scowl of his was enough to make Andraste herself blush. In training he never seems satisfied with her efforts, not as soon as she’d perfect one task he’d give her something harder. And their interactions were always painfully formal. Oh, he took his duties seriously, she was strong and healthy and now as skilled with daggers as she was with her bow, but he did it under sufferance. Like she was another chore on his already busy schedule. Or worse, knowing his past with the Chantry and the holy order of knights as a Templar, perhaps he found her presence….distasteful now. Every time she looked up he was glaring at her. For some reason that bothered her, so worked hard at her drills vowing never to let herself get into such a … mess, again. She’d learn how to protect herself so he didn’t have to. It clearly pained him to be near her and she’d realised lately that gaining his approval had become very important to her.

“Ygrette,” Dorian said exasperatedly, “you’re doing it again pet. Where do you go, when you wander off like that?” he asked curiously.

The Tevinter and his lover were like surrogate parents, she trusted him with all her secrets but so far kept this one to herself. She took a breath,

“The Commander…. do you,” she dropped her eyes to her lap and twisted her hands nervously, Dorian just raised an eyebrow and suppressed a knowing smile, “do you think he hates me? Because of….you know. I mean, I know he was a Templar and everything….” She trailed off. Dorian was struck dumb. He was aware of her growing infatuation with the Fereldan, but he wasn’t expecting the train of her thoughts to take such a dark turn. He sat upright, all trace of his previous brevity gone, and fixed her with an intent stare,

“No. Stop,” he said firmly but not harshly, “Listen to me carefully, I never want to have to repeat this. No, the Commander doesn’t think you’re…. tainted, or spoiled, or whatever it is you’re trying to say. He may be an ass at times but he’s not evil. No one blames you for what happened, and I won’t have you believing otherwise. You are not at fault. It was never your fault, do you hear me Ygrette?”

“I…” she flushed, “Yes Dori. I understand.” Dorian held her gaze until she dropped her eyes. He reached across to place his hand over hers, “

We love you, you know. Bull and I.” he said gently. Ygrette took his hand in hers and gave him a watery smile,

“I know.”

“Come here,” he pulled her onto the settee beside him, placing an arm across her shoulders, “So,” he said, eyes twinkling in mischief, “the Commander then?” Ygrette laughed shyly. “I don’t blame you my dear, what an exceptional specimen! Those broad shoulders,”

“That hair!”

“And that scar”

“His skill with a sword!”

“Oh really! Do tell?” Dorian teased, earning a slap on the leg.

“That’s not what I meant!” she blushed.

“Well, not yet anyway.”

 Ygrette playfully punched him in the arm, “Not ever, he still hates me remember.”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure,: he mused, tugging on his moustache.

 ***************

“Commander, a moment?” Dorian poked his head into the turret tower office.  

“Enter,” the Commander grunted distractedly, wearing his usual scowl.

“Ah,” Dorian said as he stepped into the room.

“Yes?” Cullen asked, looking up from his papers.

“Well, I think you’ve already answered part of my question, must you always look so… constipated?”

“What?”

“Nevermind. I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“I’m a very busy man mage.”

“Evidently. It’s a delicate subject however, concerning our Inquisitor.” Dorian watched as the surly blondes frown was immediately replaced with concern. He smiled, not sure the man was aware of just how much his face gave away.

“Is she alright?” Cullen asked,

“Yes, yes,” the Tevinter waved flipped a hand dismissively “Actually what I wanted to know was this; our sweet Lady has divulged to me certain concerns she has. About you.”

“Oh,” Cullen cleared his throat gruffly, “such as?”

“She seems to have gotten it into her pretty little head that you….. dislike her. To be accurate, she asked me why you hate her.” The scowl was back and Cullens eyes went dead flat, a slow flush crept up his neck as he clenched his jaw. Dorian went on, pretending not to notice, ‘Of course I assured her that wasn’t the case, anyone with half a brain and a heartbeat can see that, but then I was curious as to how she came to that conclusion. So here I am, and there’s that scowl,” he pointed at the Commanders darkened face.

The silence stretched out between them for a moment before Dorian relented, a knowing smile curing one side of his mouth. “Might I offer a suggestion?” he didn’t wait for a reply, “Perhaps once in a while you might try being…. Nice to her. I understand you take your role in regard to her safety quite seriously, and personally I am very grateful that you do. Maker, but I do love that girl! But while I am aware you’re of a military bearing and very focused, she sees anger and disapproval. Since it appears that your esteemed opinion is of great importance to our Inquisitor, I just thought you should know.” He gave a shallow bow from the waist and exited, leaving a decidedly confused expression on the Commanders face, and a warm tingle of satisfaction with his own handiwork.


	7. Playing nice

 “A skill at arms…. Dori did you see this?” Ygrette asked for the tenth time, intently re-reading the notice, one fingernail absently between her teeth.

“Yes me dear, I read your letter, it’s very exciting,” he sighed in reply for at least the sixth time.

“What do you suppose it means?” she asked, oblivious to the eye-roll he shot her way.

“I think it means that go out and play with the other soldiers by bashings wooden swords against each other,” he drawled. She frowned,

“ Yes, yes, I know what it means. But what does it _mean?_ ” Dorian signed in exasperation,

“If you mean _what does it mean_ that you received a personal invitation from the scrumptious Commander himself, and if I think that has any significance- I’d say that the message is quite clear.”

“How so?” she cocked her head.

“ _Must_ you be so obtuse? It means pet that he thinks you’re ready, It’s a compliment. He would never risk you in frivolous competition otherwise.”

“Oh…. Ooohhh, so he’s being _nice_ to me. By pitting me against soldiers who are likely twice my size and with more experience so I can embarrass myself in public? So he can …. swoop in and rescue me? Huh…”

“My pet, the man is a warrior, you must adjust your thinking accordingly. You overcomplicate things, he’s much more provincial. He wouldn’t know guile if it bit him on that rather splendid ass. He wants you to know that you’ve done a good job. Although,” he looked slyly at her, a smirk playing on his lips, I’ve seen the way he admires you when you fight. Maybe I’m underestimating the man, and he just wants to see you stripped down and lathered up.”

Ygrette missed the joke completely, “Do you really think so?” she breathed, eyes wide and sparkling. The mage threw up his hands in defeat.

 ****** 

The notice had been posted and already signatures were rolling in to be rostered. Actually this skill at arms idea was working out rather well. Not only was it a way for Cullen to try to restore his Lady’s confidence in her capabilities, and himself in her good graces, but the enthusiasm in the Keep and the resultant upshift in morale among the troops was a bonus. There was nothing wrong with having a bit of fun. There was one other benefit this all this if he was honest with himself- the chance to watch the Inquisitor in action from the sidelines. He didn’t doubt she would decimate and, Andraste preserve him, look incredible doing it. A lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he allowed himself a few moments to picture it.


	8. Turning point

Tourney day broke crisp and clear over Skyhold keep The arenas were pegged out, the names were in, and there was a festive atmosphere as the preparations were finalised. Josephine had taken the idea and run with it, organising food stalls and performers, and a feast in the Great Hall at the end of the day. Normally Cullen would have thought a fair in wartime was frivolous but this had been his doing after all and he could see the benefits, though at the core were his own private agendas. He stepped out his door and stretched in the early dawn light. He was unarmoured, as an officiator he would not be participating in the ring today, it would be a good opportunity to assess the troops. He’d opted for casual comfortable attire today, buckskin pants, a plain linen shirt and soft leather boots. He hadn’t even styled his hair. Much.

Ygrettes heart thumped heavily as her eager eyes landed on him in the ringside crowd. He looked….. Andraste help her he looked so..so..... His hair was mussed, his chest peaked through the unlaced shirt, and his smile! The usual grimace he wore was gone, he seemed lighter somehow, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. He laughed as he talked to the old Warden, he was glorious! But why wasn’t he watching her? Ygrette frowned absently as she side stepped the clumsy flailing of her opponents’ sword. She deftly cracked him over the butt with an agile backswing and followed up with a ringing overhand blow to his helm as he hurtled past. The young man dropped to his knees,

“Yield,” he called shakily, “I yield,” the crowd applauded as Ygrette stood over the fallen and grinned, barely winded. She bowed and reached down to help him to his feet. Suddenly she froze, her smile faltering, and a brief flash of another mans’ face sent a chill through her. She blinked and looked up quickly as two others hauled the competitor to his feet and assisted him from the field. She bowed again, hoping no-one had noticed her momentary lapse, and withdrew. Her eyes searched the audience as she deposited her blades on the rack but the Commander was gone. Ygrette wandered away from the arena pensively chewing on a nail as she moved through the throng. She startled when a hand landed on her shoulder from behind,

”My apologies,” Cullen said as she spun, “I didn’t mean to startle you just the crowd is.. loud,” he smiled.

"Oh, no it's alright, I was… a million miles away,” she blushed at coming face to face with her target so suddenly. His smile widened ever so slightly and her blush deepend. Damn her traitorous cheeks!

“So,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as they began to stroll companionably down the row of market stalls “I saw your first bout just now,”

“You did?” she feigned ignorance.

“Yes, you seemed a little distracted,” he noted, “a lapse in focus could get you into trouble in a melee fight,”

Her face dropped a little, could she never please him?

“But still, you bested him easily,” he went on, “I may need to arrange a more challenging partner for you.” He smiled looking ahead, a glint in his eye. Was he teasing her? He almost sounded..proud? Ygrette beamed as she walked beside him,

“You mean, like you?” she asked slyly. He chuckled, a sound she couldn’t remember hearing from him before.

“We’ll see,” he replied, his eyes wrinkling with a crocked smile. Ygrette laughed gaily as they continued their stroll in comfortable silence.  

Cullen had seen her in the ring, he’d watched her keenly from the corner of his eye as he tried to maintain a conversation with the Grey Warden. He’d failed, and feared that the man now thought him feeble. He’d laughed, embarrassed when Blackwell had asked if he was feeling alright, and had tried to give his full attention. But when the onlookers cheered the end of the match he’d looked over to see her standing over the kneeling soldier, hand outstretched. He’d also recognised the stiff set of her shoulders and mouth, and the panic behind her eyes. He’d seen the same many times over the last half a year or so. Cullen had intended to meet her as she left the arena but by the time he’d extricated himself from Blackwall and reached the racks he’d missed her. So he’d walked out into the throng scanning for her deep red hair which should stand out, but being she so petite it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Finally he’d spied her wandering aimlessly down the makeshift bazaar and now here she was, smiling up at him, flushed from her victory. Cullen felt his chest tighten and had a sudden urge to hold her hand as they walked. He clenched his fingers and resolutely put his hands behind his back.

“So,” she began, “I’m due on the mounted archery shortly, uh, were you planning to watch, the event?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’ve seen you shoot,” he replied, and her face fell a little, “they haven’t a chance. I wouldn’t miss it. Shall we head over now? I can help you ready your horse.” Ygrettes answering smile was breathtaking. Every time she smiled at him his heart twisted, is this what it felt like to be a fallen man? If so then let him fling himself from the ramparts and Maker be damned!

Somehow they ended up spending the day together enjoying each others’ company in easy conversation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. First Cullen watched her dominate the mounted Archery, her eyes alight as she thundered around the course hitting every target in the red. Her claret braid had come undone and her long curls swept out along behind her shining in the sun. She ended the run with a crowd-pleasing back shot; balancing in one stirrup with her other knee hooked over the pommel of her saddle she arched backward over the charging horses rump and stuck a perfect bullseye. Cullen had seen her shoot before but never like this! Blessed Andraste, she was a wonder! Ygrettes laughter was joyous as she took her victory lap to the cheer of the onlookers, riding easily with her knees, reins dropped and hips swaying fluidly with the movement. She’d stopped her horse in front of him, breathless and with flushed cheeks she’d smiled down at him as he grabbed the reins to lead her back to the yards to untack.

Then she had accompanied him to the arena where he was adjudicating the sword and shield events. Cullen had frowned at her in mock sterness while she giggled distractingly. He struggled to concentrate on the match but oddly didn’t mind one bit. After a particularly exciting bout however where even Ygrette was intently watching from the edge of her seat, she’d poked him in the arm and said excitedly, “You should fight that one,” indicating the winner.

“What? You have so little regard for me you’d like to see me horribly maimed in front of all of Skyhold?” he asked teasingly. The victor outweighed Cullen by about half, and was a good foot taller with huge torso and big arms that swung a massive double-handed blade like it was a feather.  
“No,” she breathed, eyes wide with excitement “I want to see you kick his ass!” which drew a small shocked bark from him.

“Commander!” the large man in the ring called out. Sweat gleamed on his bare chest and arms but he was hardly out of breath, “Care to join me in here?” A nervous ripple went through the crowd of people that had gathered. Cullen gritted his teeth holding back a groan but Ygrette leaned over his shoulder and whispered

“Take him down. For me.” How could he refuse? He stood to a roar from the gathering, and leaped over the balustrade of the low platform where they sat, landing expertly in the arena below. _Alright then_. Cullen pulled his shirt over his head and laid it across the railing. He didn’t look back but he heard Ygrettes rich laugh ring out behind him as he strode into the ring. He had to focus, this wouldn’t be an easy win, but with her watching it wasn’t of if but how. He rolled shoulders as he went to the rack to select a weapon. The giant man  had the reach even without the massive sword, so he would need the agility. Fight smarter, not harder. He selected a well-balanced sword and sturdy but modest shield. It wouldn’t hold up to a direct hit from that big knife but it was light and he’d be able to use it to deflect anything dangerous. While it was a game of touch, marked on skill, that didn’t mean you couldn’t still get your bell rung. He flung one last glance to his Lady on the platform and then steeled himself, quieting his mind and narrowing his focus down to his opponent. Blackwall stepped into the grassy area both hands held up to silence the crowd.

“First to 5 marks, or yield,” he boomed. “Ready?” the giant grinned, “Ready?” Cullen took a deep breath and gave a small nod. Blackwall nodded, and dropped both arms with a quick decisive chop.

Cullen had the advantage of being fresh having not competed yet, and having watched the behemoth fight he’d gotten a handle on the mans strategy, but it was a slim advantage against such odds. He crouched into a duel stance, weight balanced and feet apart. He spun his sword expertly in his hand, the blunted blade whistling as it arced through the air, and waited for his opponent to make a move. He didn’t have to wait long, the larger man rushed him, as Cullen had known he would.  He neatly dodged the massive blow, deflecting it into the sod with his shield. Though it had crushing power the swing had no control, so when he missed his target he overbalanced. This one relied a heavily on raw strength and intimidation, first causing his opponent to hesitate and then dispatching them with one or two powerful strikes. It was a good strategy, against an unskilled enemy, but it was a flaw that a seasoned warrior could exploit. As the big mans sword hit earth it gave Cullen an opening, he danced to the side and landed a mark across the giants exposed back. The soldier grunted but recovered quickly, he attempted a backswing hoping to catch Cullen before he’d moved out of reach, but the more athletic Commander had instead lunged closer and marked him under the shield arm, a 2-point move. As long as he could avoid taking one of those massive hits, he was 3 points up and should be alright.

They circled and parried, skin sheened with sweat in the sun, muscled rippling as they moved, eyes intent. The larger man had played his biggest cards early and had taken 3 marks while landing none, he was more cautious now, and beginning to tire. But when men got desperate they also got dangerous, so Cullen wasn’t celebrating yet. Suddenly his opponent rushed again but mid swing changed his arc, while Cullen reacted to the adjustment quickly it hadn’t been quick enough and he took the full impact on his raised shield and a glancing blow across the point of his shoulder. He grunted heavily, momentarily driven to one knee by the shocking impact. He’d heard a loud crack and hoped it was the shield, his left arm had gone instantly numb, fingers tingling. Using the advantage his opponent was swinging again, aiming to knock Cullens sword and disarm him. Cullen dropped and rolled over his dead arm to spring back to his feet, the huge blade missing him by inches. The broken shield was dead weight, and they were at 3 points to 2 Cullens way. Both men were beginning to tire so he ditched the useless disc. One more hit like that and he’d be cactus, he knew he needed to end this quickly. Having taken a mostly defensive tactic so far, when Cullen rushed it took the other by surprise. He barely raised his sword to block Cullens first strike but it put him off balance, and Cullen had been hoping for that. He expertly twisted and used the momentum of his backswing to follow through and laid another mark on the back of the staggered mans knee. One more point and it would be his match. He wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand, trying to keep the salty sting out of his eyes. He had one more trick up his sleeve. Since overpowering this one wasn’t an option he hard to be faster and smarter. He feinted at his opponent, and the man took the bait, thinking the Commander was about to rush him again for a blunt force attack, but as he stepped in to block Cullen dodged, swapping his sword to his off-hand and effectively disembowelled the man using his own forward momentum against him. Cullen made it look easy. A deathblow to the belly, 2-point mark, and the bout was his. The crowd roared and Cullen modestly nodded and raised a hand, then went to shake his opponent’s hand. The man had fallen to one knee winded, he was breathing heavily but looked up with a wry smile as the victor approached.

“Well met Commander. It was an honour to spar with you. I’d heard your skills were formidable, now I know they are.” He said, taking the offered hand and hauling himself to his feet.

“Thank you, though you sure didn’t make it easy. That’s some impressive swing you have,” Cullen said rolling his shoulder. It was already starting to bruise he noted, but at least it wasn’t broken. The bigger soldier laughed,

“I hope that’s not too troubling,” he pointed at Cullens injury, “at least I got one good blow in. You’ll have to show me some of those moves some time, it seems brute force won’t always win it against a skilled fighter. ‘Till next time then,” he nodded and sauntered off. _Next time!_ Cullen startled as a small hand rested on his arm, he turned to see Ygrette had come up beside him. Her eyes were sparkling as she looked up at him.

“Was that satisfactory my Lady?” he asked teasingly.

“Oh, I suppose so,” she sighed, “Perhaps you need a more challenging partner,” she echoed his earlier words back at him. Cullens eyes went wide and an astonished laugh rolled out of him. “Come,” she chuckled, handing him his shirt, “I think you’ve earned a drink!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have horses and some experience with archery/mounted archery but the back shot is pure fancy ;)


	9. Willing Thrall

After she’d bathed and changed into her skirts for the evening feast Ygrette found herself wandering through the grounds. She smiled to herself as her mind flicked through a hundred tiny moments of the day; the feel of his hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the crowds, the pride and admiration in his eyes when he’d helped her down from her horse, the way his moistened body moved as he expertly swung his weapon in combat… Suddenly as the last light of day coloured the sky, she found herself at his door. Ygrette blinked and made a quick decision, acting quickly before she could second guess herself she put a hand on the weathered wood and pushed.

“Commander, I thought to come and check on the conquering champion, see if your wounds needed tending,” she smiled cheekily as she entered his office. Cullen sat at his desk, shirt off and seemed to be in the process of doing just that.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her warmly, “you didn’t have to come all the way down here for that.”

“Nonsense, it’s the least I could do after I got you injured. Here,” she said stepping around to stand behind his chair, “let me.” She leaned over his good shoulder to take the small bottle of linament he’d been using. Her hair fell across his arm and neck as she bent low to reach it. Cullen sat very still as she poured some of the pungent oil onto her palm and rubbed her hands together to warm them. Gently she laid her hands on his aching arm, her warm fingers probed and massaged this shoulder where he’d taken the strike. She kneeded the heels of her hands into the tight muscles of his neck and bicep, all the while she leaned against him, pressing her stomach and breasts into his back. His eyes slid shut as she spread the soothing oil over his skin, her warm breath tickling his hair by his ear as she worked the medicine in. He could feel her every movement and it made his hearth thump thickly in his chest. Ygrettes hands ran down his arm as she stepped around to the side of his seat, she took his hand and tugged gently, his eyes rolled slowly open to look up at her. Her eyes were so intent, blue-grey and bright like the sky after lightening, her cheeks slightly flushed, lips parted, “You’re beginning to chill,” she said a little breathily, “we wouldn’t want you to catch cold.” He rose and let her lead him to the thick pelt rug by his glowing hearth. She turned him she he was facing away, putting herself at his back again. The warmth from the fire at his side was pleasant, but the more welcome heat came from her.   

“Kneel,” she said softly her palms placed flat on his shoulder blades. He sank to the carpet, knees wide to balance himself lower to the ground so she could reach. With nothing between them now he could feel the press of her down the length of him, and he let his head loll back to rest on her stomach as she resumed her ministrations.

Ygrette let her hands move over his skin, feeling his hardness under her seeking fingers, following the lines of his form. Feeling his warmth along her body, the press of his head on her abdomen, her hands roamed beyond his bruised shoulder. Unthinkingly she leaned over him, her hair cascading in a crimson fall of long curls across his bare chest. She ran her hands along the dip of his neck and down the front of him as she dipped her mouth to press lightly at the hollow of his throat. He swallowed, his Adams Apple bobbing beneath her touch. She pushed her nails up through his hair and felt a tremor roll through him as a small moan escaped his lips. His eyes, open now, held hers in their honey gaze, and she watched them bleed to black as she hovered her mouth over his and breathed, “Cullen.”

The feel of her hot mouth pressed to his, the sweet sound of his name on her breath undid him. Cullen hooked an arm around her waist and swung her around to face him. He curled his arms around her middle and pulled her body down to straddle his. He ran one hand down her hip and thigh and lifted her knee up to pull her closer into his lap, his other hand splay-fingered across her lower back he cradled her to him. Ygrettes hands slid slowly up his torso to gently grip his jaw, fingers spread wide as she cupped as much of him as she could. She gazed in wonder into that burnt amber stare, and the hunger she found there mirroring her own drew her down to cover his mouth with hers.  

Cullen accepted everything she wanted to give him. As much as he wanted to lay her down before him and claim her as he’d dreamed of, exploring her, exploring with her, he held back. He wouldn’t allow himself to lose control and risk losing her altogether. He remained receptive and let her take her own pace, and was glad for anything she offered. He mouth was soft and sweet on his, her tongue searching, and yielding as it met his. Finally he allowed his hands to move, his arm slid behind her lower back and he cupped her hip to steady her against him. His free hand roamed her body; along her back, down her arms, across her neck and her dip of her chest, twisting through the silken stands of her hair. She was intoxicating and he could happily spend eternity mapping her lines, learning her. But even now he held fast to his control, he would cross no line that she hadn’t first stepped over willingly on her own. No pleasure he could take from her was worth reigniting her fear, he would exile himself before he would ever cause her to feel afraid of him, unsafe with him. But he was just a man and his resolve was not infinite. While he knew that she deserved better, that he should keep himself at a distance, he no longer had the will to do it. So he fell, and welcomed every part of herself that she offered and was satisfied.

 It could have been an hour or a day when Ygrette let her lips pull away from his. All of her senses were awash with the feel of him, his taste, his scent of soap and elderflower and something that was purely his own. It was almost painful how much she wanted him as she was wrapped in his strong arms, surrounded by him. And she thought he wanted her, but he was hesitant, holding back. A moment of doubt had caused her to withdraw. What if he didn’t want her? What if this was somehow just an extension of his duties, to let her touch him and kiss him, an obligation to keep her happy? Or worse, what if he just couldn’t bring himself to really be with her, knowing what he knew? Searching those dark honey eyes, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his body as he drew breath, she didn’t find an answer.

Cullen felt her hesitate as she broke their kiss. He searched her stormy eyes and saw doubt,

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” he asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“I, you…. I,” she stammered breathily, her chest pressing against his with the rise and fall of her. She faltered as that little crease that she loved so much dimpled his brow, worry in his eyes, “It’s just, you don’t… do you… want me? I mean this isn’t part of your job or… I feel like you’re holding back and… if this isn’t what you want…. “ she sighed as he raised a hand to tenderly trail the back of his fingers down her face.

“Maker no! That’s not it, truly! Ygrette I do…. want you,” he sighed looking away, rubbing his neck like he does.

“Then is it, if what happened to me is…. putting you off”

“What?! No! Why would you ask me that? Is that what you think of me? Is that what you think of _yourself_? Makers balls, Ygrette!”

“Well I, no, I mean,” Ygrette huffed helplessly, her eyes filling.

Maker! Would he forever be at the mercy of those tears? He hoped so. Cullen softened, his body gone rigid with shock, and he cupped her delicate chin in his hand,

“Ygrette, if you were mine, truly mine, I would never stop touching you,” he said lowly.

“Then why won’t you touch me now?”

“It’s not because I don’t want to, I’m just, afraid that I want it too much. I’m afraid to cross a line and frighten you. I never want to be the cause of that terror in your eyes again, the way you look at me that day, I’d never forgive myself.”

“This isn’t the same thing Cullen,” she relaxed into him, understanding now, “I wasn’t scared of _you,_ not truly, but this isn’t anything like what happened,” she cupped his face in both hands, her eyes pleading for him to understand that she wanted this, wanted him. She stood, [pulling him up with her and wrapped her arms tightly around his bare waist, “Cullen,” she whispered, a low hum in her chest, “I want you. I want to be truly yours, if you’ll have me.”

“Ygrette,” a small groan escaped him at the sound of his name on her lips. He slowly bent to brush his lips against her upturned waiting mouth, so gently, savouring the feel of her, the taste of her. A delicacy he’d never hoped to experience. He felt her press into him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body radiate along the full length of his. Her hands move up his torso, palms flat, she pushed them over his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair as she stretched up on her toe-tips against him. His skin tingled with electricity at her touch. He dared to move his hands, over her arms, down her ribs, her hips, all the while kissing her sweetly. Her breath catches and his eyes fly open in a flash of concern, but in her expression he sees only pleasure. Taking courage from this he encircled her waist in his strong arms and pulls her closer, lifting her up to deepen their kiss. She let out a soft sigh and her fingers flexed in his hair as he trailed his tongue along her jaw and down her throat. _So this is what it feels like to be a fallen man._ He laments for a brief moment that now having known it he may never be able to let her go again. Makers breath, was he to forever be her willing thrall? He couldn’t seem to find a single thing wrong with the idea. And he bent to claim her mouth again, a smile upon his lips.

 

 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done! 3am but I promised, so I hope you enjoy the conclusion of this tale, it was an experience to write it.

**Author's Note:**

> So my first full fanfic, typical fanfic style of angst and fluff, torment and romance. I hope I did it justice, it's a new genre for me :)


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